Page 105 of Samhain Savior

I was startled from my musings when Vine popped his head out of the narrow door, grinning like a loon.

“All clear, bestie. Come on in!”

Following him, I stepped into the darkened tomb, coughing slightly as the stale air hit the back of my throat like a sour grape.

“Yeah,” Vine lamented, patting me on the back comfortingly. “That’s a little fragrance I like to calleau de dead guy,”he chuckled lightly. “Takes some getting used to.”

Letting out a chuckle, I summoned a ball of witchlight, sending it over our heads to illuminate the crypt. The demons may not have needed light to see, but I certainly did.

Once I’d blinked away the darkness, my eyes took in the interior of the vault, noting that the decor was unsurprisingly similar to the outside; over the top ostentatious and gaudy to the point of ridiculous. There were detailed carvings on every spare space, the high quality craftsmanship and insane amount of gilding was indicative of the expense that was clearly put into the place. It was overly showy, considering no one had laid eyes on it in nearly two centuries.

Well, no one living, anyway.

In the center of the space were two coffins, both made of the same pristine marble as the rest of the tomb, but with clear glass tops, the surfaces covered in a fine layer of dust.

And they each displayed a mummified corpse.

“Is this him?” I asked quietly, my gaze taking in the tight, gray-brown flesh of one body clearly wearing a suit. The face of the poor man was stretched in a grotesque grimace, the lips pulled tight as the flesh had dehydrated, revealingthe yellowed, half rotted teeth of a man who had lived in a time when sugar was plentiful and dental visits were not. The eye sockets were empty, the dreadful face staring back at me with a tortured expression that made my skin crawl.

“That’s him,” Mex spat, her angry eyes narrowed on the corpse.

“And who’s this?” I asked turning to the second coffin, this one containing the body of a woman.

“That is his long suffering wife, Madeleine.”

Peeking through the glass, I took her in, her face and body in the same state of dehydration, but her ivory lace dress nearly perfectly preserved. She had long, blond hair liberally streaked with gray and held back from her face with two tortoise shell combs. On her dessicated fingers she wore several rings, each sporting impressive diamonds and other precious stones.

There was no amulet in sight.

Reaching within myself, I tried to feel for it, searching for that same sensation of a presence that I’d felt in Boston. A hint of direction, a magical tug that told me we were close, but there was nothing.

My heart raced. It wasn’t here. Did that mean that the Order had already claimed it? And if so, how the Hell were we supposed to get it back?

“So how do you want to do this, Archer?” Mex asked, clearly ready to get the whole thing over with and get back to her own life.

“Me?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest as he watched me inspecting the coffins. “You’re the one who communes with the dead.”

“Used to,” Mex corrected, her irritation with her lack of abilities evident in the way she snarled the words at him. “Iusedto commune with the dead. But ever since the Dark Lord’s disappearance, I’ve been unable to reach anyone. I thought you said you had a plan.”

“I do.” Turning to me, Archer held out his hand. “Delilah will get you through the veil.”

“What?” I gasped at the same time as Mex shouted, “How the Hell will she do that?”

“Archer,” I spluttered. “I have no idea how to speak with the dead.”

Sure, there were witches who claimed to be able to do it, but as far as I knew, most of those were frauds, using their skills as parlor tricks to dupe desperate people out of their money. Actual mediums were few and far between, and I knew for a fact that I wasn’t one of them.

“You don’t need to speak to anyone,” he said, looking at me with a fondness that was almost startling. “You just have to help Mex as she does.”

“You’re telling me this witch can get me access to the underworld? She can help me pierce the veil?” Mex was suspicious, and I couldn’t blame her; I probably looked like a deer in the headlights.

“She’s done it already,” Archer said confidently. “Twice, in fact.”

“Archer, I didn’t do any of that on purpose,” I stressed, needing him to know how I felt about the situation. “I’m not even sure what I did, so how can I possibly do it again?”

“Trust me, witch,” he said, one hand coming up to stroke over my cheek and down my throat, his fingers pausing to dance along the bite mark on my neck. I had to clench my teeth against the impulse to moan, the contact sending a buzz of heat tingling through my body. Under his fingers, the shadow collar danced, almost as if it was enjoying his touch as much as I was. “But moreover, trust yourself. There is nothing you cannot do.”

My heart—that unreliable muscle that was beating rapidly inside my chest—melted at his words. So full of confidence in me, even though I’d given him next to no reason for his faith.